


Fix It

by InnerSpectrum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 17:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14049081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: A simple slice of 221B life. Sherlock is in the wrong, John is pissed off and the genius has to rectify it.





	Fix It

Sherlock stood at the stove, fry pan in hand as warmed-up yet another of John’s impromptu dinners. The man had a gift for taking leftovers and whatever else he could find and conjure up deliciousness. It was the only way to get a decent meal in Sherlock sometimes. He let work keep him up all manners of hours and a proper meal oft fell by the wayside in the process. John made sure he ate.

He couldn’t believe his luck when John signed on to live at 221B. They gave each other a million reason to walk away from being roommates. Yet in a short few weeks of living together there had been a marked difference in the daily routine of the place. Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, claimed it was like the apartment had a cold draft that someone finally sealed and the place was warm again. Sherlock knew the draft was him and the warmth was John. Sherlock always felt himself the mar, the blemish, the thing off in the equation from everything else. Until John moved in that is, the man arrived with his own issues. His temper being the worst.

Normally Sherlock would use the microwave, but he had conducted a food experiment that had not gone quite as expected. He had thrown away the experiment, but had not cleaned the remnants out. John understandably had refused to clean it this time as he had all the other times. Still, the man was a hard-wired neat-freak when it came to some things that Sherlock would often just wait it out knowing John would cave in and do it. Still, every now and then the former army captain would grind his heels in, raise a brow and get a stubborn streak. Sherlock knew it would be like sand in one’s shoe that couldn’t seem to shake out, but the captain would not budge until it was resolved, usually it would take just a couple of days. This was now day five – that was a new record. And from the way John increasingly slammed things around whenever he entered the kitchen, Sherlock knew he really was going to have to do something about it and soon. He couldn’t stand it if John employed the silent treatment again.

A little over a year ago, the first and last time Sherlock made a huge mess and didn’t clean, John railed for three days, then stopped speaking. He absolutely did not speak to him, did not go on a case with him, nothing. Being petty, after a week, Sherlock had moved the sofa to block the stairs, delaying John when he knew the doctor was already running late. Sherlock sat at the desk, earphones on, acting engrossed on his laptop. He looked up just in time to see John eyes turned stormy as he glared at Sherlock. Still the doctor said nothing as he lifted the couch from the long end, flipped it where it landed on the hall side table smashing it beyond repair and then went on his way leaving the door wide open. Mrs. Hudson had heard the crash and came running out of her downstairs flat. She passed a furious, and still silent, John along the way.

Stunned at John’s reaction, Sherlock had yet to move from the desk. Mrs. Hudson walked up to Sherlock and smacked the genius on the back of his head so hard he saw stars as she ordered him to _fix it_. He knew she did not mean the table. Sherlock was not in the least surprised when the cost of the table was charged to his share of the rent. By then he had cleaned the apartment and apologized. He almost cried in relief when John very efficiently, and justifiably, proceeded to curse him out.

Now at nearly two years as flatmates it was so much improved. John made him do better. No, John made him _want_ to do better. Sherlock knew John was learning how to better manage his temper from dealing with him. Somehow they made the worse seem better in each other. They balanced each other.

He toyed with the idea of just tossing the microwave out and getting a new one, but at the rate he experimented and made messes he’d likely be buying a new one every other month. Besides, that would be cheating. He sighed as he looked back at the microwave with guilt. John would be home in an hour.

Sherlock turned off the stove and got the cleaning supplies.


End file.
